Kitty scrambled out, heedless of the two passengers she left behind, or the fat raindrops smattering the cobbled drive. She was home. She half expected to see her grandfather waiting on the front stoop. A sob caught in her throat at the thought of him.
Fisting her skirts in her hands, she tripped up the broad steps to the over-sized double doors. As she reached for the brass knocker, one door opened.
George, her grandfather’s faithful butler, blanched at the sight of her.
“George. It’s Kitty,” she said, her voice choked.
He blinked and a wobbly grin spread over his aged face. “It is you. I thought my eyes were playing tricks.” He turned, calling over his shoulder in a loud voice. “Our Kitty’s come home!”
A whoop came from the front hall, and scant seconds later, Mrs. Finney’s dear face appeared in the open doorway.
Before Kitty could utter the first word, she found herself enveloped in a warm, comforting embrace.
“Oh, milady, we thought we’d never see you again. How we’ve missed you.” After several moments, she loosened her grip and leaned back to study Kitty. “Where’ve you been these last six months, m’dear? Lord James’s looked everywhere for you. When you didn’t turn up, some of us worried he’d…that the night of the festival, during that awful storm, he…”
George cleared his throat, and Mrs. Finney broke off, beaming a watery smile at Kitty. “Och, none of that matters now you’re home. But who is this you’ve brought with you?”
Kitty dashed tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand and took a bracing breath. “I have two traveling companions.”
Behind her, Zeke’s booted heels scraped up the wooden steps.
She glanced over her shoulder and met his velvet blue gaze. She nodded at him, and sent Lady Lillian on his arm a warm smile.
“This is Lady Lillian Thurgood and her great-nephew, Lord Ezekiel Thurgood—my, um, fiancé.”
***
Kitty skimmed her fingers over the surface of the now tepid lavender-infused bathwater. Behind her, Mrs. Finney bustled about, packing Kitty's trunks and humming in her familiar, chipper way.
She closed her eyes and tried to banish the nostalgia threatening to swamp her. But it was no use. The gnawing ache inside her refused to subside.
She missed her life, the one that included her grandfather and Collin, and occasionally, her parents. But they were all gone now. All that remained was this mound of bricks known as Hastings House, a handful of aging servants, and her memories.
Memories Garrick James had done his best to erase, the vile creature.
The moment she walked into her grandfather’s den the changes he’d wrought slammed into her with the force of a monsoon. The picture her grandfather had commissioned of Collin and her he'd hung above his mantel was gone. Her grandfather’s prized globe likewise had disappeared.
Feeling sick, she inspected the sparsely populated mahogany shelves lining the wall to find Garrick had purged them of her parents’ works. Their atlases and journals and maps—all gone.
She turned to flee the room only to find Zeke in the doorway. He studied her, eyes narrowed, as if he sensed something amiss.
She refused to break down in front of the man. Somehow, she kept her face impassive as she marched past him, and headed up the stairs to Collin’s chamber—where all evidence of her brother’s existence had vanished without a trace.
The marble-topped marquetry chest—the one their parents had chosen for him while in France—gone. His ornate snuffbox collection, always proudly displayed on the shelves—gone. The corner by the window where his red-lacquered Oriental cabinet once gleamed now boasted nothing more than empty space. His cologne bottles and ledgers and the Irish paperweight she’d gifted to him were all gone.
From there she dragged her feet to the master’s bedchamber. A cursory glance was all she could endure. Garrick had madethe chamber his own, eradicating every hint her grandfather had ever existed. Only her chamber had been left untouched.
A perfect illustration if ever there was one. She was completely alone in the world.
The thought brought the sting of tears to her eyes, and she submerged her head under the bathwater. She stayed below the surface until her lungs burned with the need for air. She surfaced, gasping.
“What’re you about, girl?” Mrs. Finney asked with a chuckle. “Surely the water’s gone tepid by now, Kitty dear. You’d best get dried ’afore you turn yourself into a prune.”
Kitty smiled at her wrinkled fingertips. “Too late.”
“Well, come on, then, out with you and let’s get you dressed.”
A small while later, Mrs. Finney finished doing up the tiny buttons lining the back of her green evening gown.
